


Teach Me

by shaniacbergara



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Experienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Time, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Premature Ejaculation, Virgin Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara
Summary: Oh this? It's a prompt fill from one of my lovely tumblr followers, who asked for Aziraphale teaching Crowley how to get down.  As I said "this prompt is getting filled, and so is Crowley." Do you have a prompt?? Feel free to send em in over at isoundmybarbaricyawp on tumblr!!Be advised, this IS my second time ever writing anything smutty so, yknow, bear with me here.





	Teach Me

It takes them a while to figure it out.

Well, rather, it takes Crowley a while to figure it out. Aziraphale? He’s got everything figured out already, hasn’t he?

A clink of glasses at the Ritz, and suddenly they’re back at the bookshop and Crowley, well, hadn’t Crowley just been talking about something.

“What was I saying?” He wondered aloud, the red wine in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim. It wouldn’t go over, Crowley never seemed to spill wine, and odd demonic trick he’d perfected over the years.

“I can’t say I know for sure, dear.” Aziraphale admitted, grinning at him. He patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Won’t you sit?” Crowley has never denied Aziraphale anything in his life, and he sits, slouches, makes himself comfortable despite his thrumming insistent pulse, it comes with a mantra: don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch. But his fingers itch, and now, they’re alone, on their own side, no more threats from on high or down below, and he wants. Crowley wants so desperately, he’s not even sure what he’s wanting for. 

“Wonder how Warlock’s doing.” Crowley says, lazily. 

“Let’s not talk about our godson just now, dear.” Aziraphale instructs and suddenly there’s a hand on Crowley’s knee. Crowley looks at it, and damn it all if he doesn’t spill his wine, a 6,000 year spill-less streak down the drain, because that’s not his hand. Aziraphale squeezes, and Crowley squeaks. 

“Zira!” He exclaims, and Aziraphale is smirking beside him, looking pleased with myself. Crowley doesn’t say anything further, but he’s got an idea he oughtn’t be too tipsy for this. He sobers up without comment, and looks at Aziraphale questioningly. 

“You know, my dear, I’ve been thinking.” He says, kneading at Crowley, and Crowley makes a noise deep in his throat. It’s most certainly not a moan. It isn’t.

“Thinking.” He repeats, unable to process more or form a more coherent response. 

“About us.” Aziraphale clarifies.

“Us.” 

“There’s no need for us to be scared, too be looking over our shoulder now. No need to be anxious.” He says it soothingly, apologetically, almost. 

“No need.” Aziraphale is smiling at him. It’s been a while since he’d seen Crowley so befuddled. Might as well take pity on the poor fellow. He moves his hand from Crowley’s knee to his chin, and turns it towards him.

Aziraphale is kissing him, and it starts chaste, starts innocent, like how one might expect an angel of the Lord to kiss. And it feels like an inevitability to Crowley, if inevitability had positive connotations. It feels like of course, of course, at last. But the pressure on Crowley’s lips increases, and all of a sudden there’s a nibble on his bottom lip, and he gasps, and all at once it’s filthy. He’s too hot and he can feel his face heating up, can feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. There are tears in his eyes and he’s harder than he’s ever been and he’s never even felt anything that has come close to this. Driving the Bentley is the only thing that he can even think of, but even that pales in comparison. And Aziraphale is pressing against him and he can feel Aziraphale’s heart in his chest, can feel Aziraphale, pressing stiffly against him. And it’s nearly too much to contemplate that the Principality Aziraphale is hard because of him. And then there’s a hand on Crowley’s waist and Aziraphale makes an obscene noise and oh. Crowley’s shaking all over and-

“Oh my.” Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley scoots back, way back, back far enough that Aziraphale is no longer touching him. He doesn’t make any move to get off the couch, mainly because he doesn’t actually want to get away from Aziraphale, not really. He wants, and he still wants, but he’s aware, in the back of his mind, that this is embarrassing, and suddenly his lack of experience makes him feel very stupid, indeed. 

“Sorry.” He murmurs, and Aziraphale smiles at him, smiles in that soft, warm way he has, like he always does when they’re alone, and Crowley’s heart stirs. 

“Don’t be! You’re so sensitive, has it been very long?” He asks, cheerfully and scoots closer to Crowley, who can feel his heart rate speeding up again. Crowley is flummoxed again.

“I-What?”

“Besides, it’s hardly the first time this has happened to someone I’ve been kissing.” Aziraphale admits, a little smugly. And Crowley’s fairly sure he might discorporate right then and there.

“What?!” He asked again, shaking his head to clear it, because Aziraphale’s hand had found his knee again, and he really needed to focus on something other than the angel’s warmth through his trousers. 

“What, what, dear?” Aziraphale asked, hoping to get more than a syllable or two out of Crowley, this time. 

“You’ve been-and-I mean to say-you’ve been kissing?!” He looks incredulous, he looks in awe. Aziraphale, on the other hand, looks puzzles.

“What did you think I was doing in all of those quiet and discrete gentlemen’s clubs?” He asks, looking baffled. Crowley sputters.

“The gavotte!” 

“Don;t be absurd, dancing, all that, it’s just the prelude, my love.” And now Crowley’s blushing again and he really ought to get this under control. Realization dawns on Aziraphale all at once, and it looks lovely as it crests in his eyes. It’s his turn to look incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me?” 

“No.” Crowley insists. 

“Was that-Crowley-have you never made love before?” Crowley very nearly bursts into flames.

“Criminy, Angel, let’s not say things like that.” He begs, and Aziraphale chuckles. 

“That’s not an answer.” He prompts, and the dam bursts somewhere behind Crowley’s chest.

“Of course not! I’ve never even-that was my-I’ve been.” He takes a deep breath, wanting to at least finish a sentence. “Been waiting for you, angel.” He looks shy, and a demon looking shy might be one of the most absurd things Aziraphale has ever seen. Crowley chances a glance at the angel and sees the small crease between his eyebrows that means he’s troubled by something. “What is it, angel?” He asks, and now he’s bridging the gap, grasping the hand that’s on his knee with both of his own. And he hopes, because he hasn’t checked, that this, at least, is allowed. He assumes it must be, because Aziraphale takes his hands and presses them to his lips. And it occurs to Crowley that he probably ought to be uncomfortable by now, but he can’t bring himself to feel anything but warm. 

“Does it bother you? That I haven’t waited?” Aziraphale whispers it into Crowley’s palms, and Crowley shivers. “I’ve been...rather busy, I’m afraid.” Crowley grins.

“Are you kidding? You? Fucking your way through history? That’s the hottest thing I can imagine.” He’s cut off by another fierce kiss, and Aziraphale is guiding him upwards. They move to the bedroom, connected at the lips. 

“Want to show you.” Aziraphale breaths, hot and wet, against his lips. He moves, kissing and sucking along Crowley’s neck and suddenly Crowley’s glad for being too eager earlier, because he certainly couldn’t cope with this otherwise. “Want you, Crowley, want you.” 

“You have me, angel, however you want.” He says, and it’s so honest it nearly burns his tongue on thew way out. 

“Been waiting, too, waiting for you.” Aziraphale says before biting down, hard, on Crowley’s neck and Crowley yelps, hips bucking up underneath Aziraphale, as he’s undone again. He whines, thoroughly overstimulated but searching for more more more, as Aziraphale presses a knee between his thighs. “I rather think we ought to get rid of these before we continue.” Aziraphale reasons, and with a snap, both of their clothes have been miracled away, Crowley notes that he’s been cleaned up, and wonders if Heaven would count that as a frivolous miracle, because to him it seems very very vital.

All at once he’s beholding Aziraphale, and he’s always worshipped Aziraphale, but this is nearly too much to take in. He’s beautiful, and utterly unapologetic about it, confident where Crowley is unsure, soft and supple where Crowley is hard and angular. His Effort is in front of Crowley, and it demands attention, and he’s not even sure where to start but his hands find Aziraphale’s shoulders and Aziraphale is still smiling at him like Crowley is something beautiful. 

“You’re divine.” Aziraphale tells him, and kisses him before he can protest. “You’re so perfect, so eager and ready. So lovely.” He says it against Crowley’s lips like a prayer and somehow, by some miracle, no doubt, Crowley finds himself hard again. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley whispers, and he can’t tell if it’s because he wants Aziraphale’s attention, or because Aziraphale’s name is the only word he remembers how to say.

“What do you want, beautiful?” He asks, and he’s running his hands up and down the length of Crowley’s spine, this embrace is so intimate, like nothing Crowley has ever experienced. 

“I don’t know.” Crowley admits, but it’s not completely true, so he amends. “Wanna touch you.” Aziraphale guides his hands, then, drawing patterns over his own body. He shows Crowley what he likes, leading him to grasp and pull Aziraphale close as Aziraphale’s own hands resume their exploration of Crowley’s edges. Crowley’s hands find Aziraphale’s hips, and Aziraphale grins. “Want to, can I?” He asks, and Aziraphale smiles at him so radiantly it’s almost hard for Crowley to look at. 

“Of course.” Crowley clumsily manhandles Aziraphale to the edge of the bed, and slides to his knees on the plush carpeting of Aziraphale’s bedroom. “Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale gasps, and Crowley puts his hands on Aziraphale’s knees. He looks up at him, his long eyelashes fluttering beguilingly. Aziraphale’s hands are in his hair and Crowley loses focus as his eyes roll back, savoring the gentle tug and the soothing press of Aziraphale’s fingers. He blinks his eyes back open to see Aziraphale, pupils blown wide with lust and want, staring back at him.

“Teach me?” He requests, and Aziraphale groans, a pearl of precome drips from his cock, and Crowley can’t help but lick his lips. Gently and sweetly as ever, Aziraphale guides him. Crowley licks, and sucks, and swallows him down. His suspicion was correct, Aziraphale tastes amazing. He tells him as much, and is rewarded with a tug in his hair and another deep groan. Crowley is rocking his hips as Aziraphale begins to gently thrust, keeping up a steady stream of instructions, praises, and commentary above him. Crowley groans, and Aziraphale forces his head back, petting his hair and taking deep, shuddering breaths. There are small beads of sweat on Aziraphale’s chest, and his curls at the base of his cock are darker now. He grabs Crowley’s arms and hauls him back onto the bed, mouthing along his ear, his neck, his collar bone. 

“Aziraphale, please.” He begs, and what on earth is Crowley begging for? He’s overstimulated, his skin is on fire, but all he wants are Aziraphale’s hands on him, Aziraphale’s skin on his skin. And all of a sudden, he knows exactly what he’s begging for. “Fuck me, please.” He requests, and it’s the hottest thing Aziraphale has ever heard in his very very long life. He’s been with so many men, and nothing can compare to the mewling demon he finds beneath him now. Who is he to deny him? He moves down, sucking marks into Crowley’s thighs, into his hips, those joints designed for temptation, for desire. He snaps his fingers, and they’re slick. 

“You’re sure?” He asks, because he’s all about informed and enthusiastic consent.

“Please please please” is all Crowley seems to be able to say at present, so he takes it, and obliges. Crowley’s hole flutters as Aziraphale’s hot breath ghosts over him. He tenses at this first intrusion, and Aziraphale runs a soothing hand up his thigh. 

“Let me in, my love.” He requests, and the pet name oozes all of the tension from Crowley’s body. 

Aziraphale takes his time, he’s a glutton at heart, and he cannot get enough of the way Crowley writhes and moans under his ministrations. He grazes, gently, against Crowley’s prostate, a gentle promise of the endless pleasure yet to come. Crowley’s cock is leaking, untouched, in front of Aziraphale’s eyes. And as he gently pulls out his fingers he licks a stripe up from base to tip. The whine of absence Crowley lets out turns into a needy growl, and Aziraphale moans at the noise. 

“May I?” He requests, ever so cordial and polite, and Crowley is in awe of how many words Aziraphale seems to know at this exact moment. He nods, desperately. “Tell me.” He requests, smirking as he lines up. 

“Please fuck me, Aziraphale, please-” his begging shifts into a high pitched groan as Aziraphale pushes in. It’s all Crowley can feel, he’s so close, Aziraphale is inside him and he feels like his skin may buzz right off. It’s like he can’t tell where Aziraphale ends and he begins and all of a sudden he gets why humans feel inclined to do this all the time. His head thumps back against the pillows and Aziraphale takes the opportunity to lick up his neck, sucking and biting. And when they’re pressed together, wide expanses of skin covering wide expanses of skin, it feels so perfect that it brings tears back to Crowley’s eyes. He ought to be embarrassed by them, a demon, crying over something so simple, but then Aziraphale kisses his cheeks where they have started to fall, and starts to gently rock his hips, and Crowley doesn’t feel embarrassed at all, just feels safe, and loved, and warm. When Aziraphale’s cock firmly nudges Crowley’s prostate, he feels something different altogether. 

“I won’t last long, like this, my love.” Aziraphale admits, continuing in his rhythm, hands grasping and clutching and rubbing all along Crowley and Crowley gasps. It’s true it isn’t long before Aziraphale is hurtling over the edge, and one long stroke of Crowley’s cock sends him there, too. Aziraphale crests in a chorus, he chants “I love you, I love you, I love you” breathily as he leans his forehead against Crowley’s, and Crowley’s answered shout of “Aziraphale!” is answer enough for him. 

They lay beside each other, panting, sweat slicked and giddy with love. 

“Is it always like that?” Crowley asks, propping himself up on an elbow. His hand finds the blonde curls on Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale hums. Crowley can feel the noise of it through his palm. 

“Never, for me.” He says, and he can feel Crowley’s aura glow, with pleasure, desire, love, pride. “And that was just the prelude.” He grins cheekily, and Crowley kisses him. They’ll need to talk about this, later, but for now Crowley wants him close, wants to keep him near.

“Teach me again.”


End file.
